Some, like Ruth, simply read their lines, while others, like Clara, threw themselves into their roles. Gabri, who’d allowed himself to be talked into the male lead, shot annoyed glances at Clara when it became clear she had a hidden talent.

The other revelation was Monsieur Béliveau, who started off quite stilted but, inspired by Clara’s all-in performance, rose to the occasion and by the second act had everyone in stitches as the comic-relief owner of the hardware store that had everything except what the other characters really wanted. Milk. Every character went into the hardware store looking for milk.

It became a leitmotif of the play.

What was not revealed, however, was the whereabouts of the plans.

When the final word was spoken and silence descended, they looked over at Armand and Jean-Guy, who were leaning forward in their chairs hoping to catch that one vital word or phrase.

But there were no more words. They’d run out of play.

Gamache pulled out his device, which kept accurate time.

It was five twenty-three. Thirty-seven minutes left.

He looked at Brian. “Anything?”

“I’m sorry, nothing struck me.”

“Anyone?” asked Gamache.

They all shook their heads.

Gamache got up and thanked them sincerely.

“There’s something you need to know,” he said. He’d debated telling them about the CBC broadcast, but decided they’d hear it themselves soon enough. “The CBC is about to air a story on Gerald Bull’s gun being found.”

They looked surprised, but not yet shocked.

“What does that mean?” Myrna asked.

“Well, they don’t know where it is,” he said, and saw relief in their faces. “But it’s just a matter of time. Once they find out, then everyone will come here.”

“Everyone?” asked Myrna. “Who’s ‘everyone’? Journalists, of course, but who else?”

“People looking for the plans,” said Gamache. “That’s why we asked you here, and that’s why we need to find them ourselves first. You’ve just read the play, most of you for the first time. If anything should strike you later, please let us know right away. And, of course, it’s vital you tell no one about this. Jean-Guy?”

He invited Beauvoir into the study and closed the door.

Gabri left to go back to the B and B and Olivier headed over to the bistro, which would be busy at this time of day.

Brian helped Reine-Marie clear the coffee mugs while Clara and Myrna put the furniture back, and Ruth did nothing.

“May I borrow her?” Monsieur Béliveau asked with his exaggerated politeness, indicating Ruth.

Ruth got up. “No need to ask them. I don’t even know who they are.”

“We have a no-returns policy,” Clara warned him.

“And she was already broken when we found her,” said Myrna, picking up a chair.

Ruth scowled at them and Monsieur Béliveau looked perplexed, then he nodded.

“I know,” he finally said. “I think I was there when it happened.”

It was Clara and Myrna’s turn to be perplexed as the two elderly villagers left.

*   *   *

Gabri stood in the doorway of the small library at the very back of the B and B, staring.

What he saw was so ordinary and yet it was riveting.

Mary Fraser was reading.

That was it. Just sitting there. Looking down at her lap. Not at a book, but at a script. The script.

There was nothing even remotely remarkable about it. Except for the intensity with which she was looking at the page.

Sean Delorme sat in the wing chair, watching her, studying her as she studied the play.

And then he looked up. At Gabri. And then he got up and walked slowly, deliberately toward him.

Gabri took a step back as this previously nondescript, dull man came toward him. There was no weapon in his hand, not even a threatening expression on Delorme’s face, but Gabri found his heart pounding. Sean Delorme stopped at the doorway and the two men stared at each other across the threshold.

Then Delorme slowly, wordlessly, closed the door until it clicked shut. And then there was another sound, as a bolt was drawn across.

Gabri stared at the wooden door. His last image of the small library fused into his memory. Of Delorme’s dark eyes and beyond him, Mary Fraser continuing to read. As though her life depended on it.

*   *   *

From the study Beauvoir phoned across to Lacoste at the Incident Room.

She confirmed that Cohen was at the SHU. “He’s in his car, waiting.”